"Yes, we have noticed that."
"What is the exact nature of your maneuvering system problem?"
"We're still looking into it."
"Captain Vitali, you need to maneuver your ship again. You're on a very hazardous trajectory."
"The situation is a bit awkward, isn't it?"
Captain Hayes seemed lost for words for a moment before replying. "Do you anticipate correcting this 'problem' with your maneuvering systems in the very near future?"
"It's very hard to say."
Hayes took a deep breath. "Captain Vitali, as Exercise Movement Coordinator I very respectfully request that you immediately maneuver so as to avoid collision with the SASAL ship."
"What's that?"
"I believe you heard my request."
"Oh, rot. The signal's breaking up. We appear to've developed a communications problem as well. I must have a talk with my officers about these system problems. This is HMS
Lord Nelson
. Nothing heard. Out."
Kwan was staring at his display, his jaw loose. "I can't believe she's doing this."
Captain Hayes' face had reddened to a deep shade approaching purple. "Damn crazy Brits."
Paul leaned toward Sindh so he could speak in a whisper. "What're they doing?"
Sindh glanced toward Captain Hayes before replying in the same low tone. "The Brits? They're going head to head with the SASALs."
"They deliberately put themselves on a collision course with that other ship so the SASALs will have to maneuver to avoid them?"
"Right. They're playing chicken, and they've one-upped the SASALs."
"You don't play that kind of game with warships. That's insane."
"Well, yes. But the Brits aren't really insane. Just very sure of their inherent superiority over every other form of human life. So it's more of a calm certainty that the other person'll blink first."
"What if the other person
doesn't
blink first?"
Lieutenant Sindh shook her head. "Then you end up with what the Brits would no doubt refer to as a 'regrettable turn of events.' "
Captain Hayes glared around the bridge. "Combat, do you still have a data link active with the
Nelson
?"
Garcia's voice held weary resignation. "They're telling us they can't read our link."
"So they can transmit but not receive?"
"Yes, sir. That's what they're saying."
"Oh, for—" Hayes bit off the rest of his comment, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair as he glowered at his display. "They're pulling that stupid 'blind eye' trick. Just because they're named after Nelson doesn't mean they have to pretend that they
are
Nelson!"
Paul took a moment to recall the captain's reference.
Oh, yeah. Copenhagen. The British commander sent up a signal ordering Nelson to withdraw and Nelson put his telescope to his blind eye, looked toward the signal and said he couldn't see anything. Then he went on to win the battle
. Paul studied the display again, watching the red symbol marking the probable collision point blinking with increasing urgency.
They won't move, will they? Sindh's right. The Brits won't back down
.
"Captain?" Lieutenant Sindh asked. "Should I alert our rescue teams to be prepared for action?"
Hayes snorted, pointing at the screen. "Look at the closing rate between those ships, Lieutenant. If they hit at those speeds there won't be anything to rescue but dust particles."
Paul stared at the display, transfixed by the sight of two massive warships deliberately racing directly toward each other at tremendous velocities. Above the symbol indicating each ship, two time markers scrolled rapidly downward. The first marker, indicating time to collision, was less important at the moment than the second, which displayed the time remaining for one of the ships to maneuver to avoid the other. If either tried to take evasive action after that point, it'd be too late for the ships' drives to alter their paths through space quickly enough, and momentum would carry the ships into collision regardless. Even a glancing blow at those speeds and with that mass would be devastating to both ships.
The
Michaelson
's maneuvering system spoke clearly across the now otherwise silent bridge, its composed voice at odds with the urgency of the message. "HMS
Lord Nelson
and SASAL warship
Tamerlane
will collide unless at least one maneuvers within five minutes of my mark.. . . . Mark. Recommend advise both ships to undertake coordinated maneuvers to avoid collision."
Captain Hayes answered the
Michaelson
's system without looking away from his display. "We already thought of that."
Kwan leaned toward the Captain. "Maybe if we fired ahead of the SASAL ship, it'd be scared and—"
"No can do, XO. That'd definitely be a confrontation. I'm not free to do that."
"Can we fire just in front of the
Nelson
, then?"
Sindh answered this time. "No, sir. The firing angle is too oblique given our relative positions."
"Four minutes remaining before collision between HMS
Lord Nelson
and SASAL warship
Tamerlane
becomes inevitable," the
Michaelson
's maneuvering systems reminded them.
Captain Hayes triggered his communications again. "HMS
Lord Nelson
, this is the Exercise Movement Coordinator on the USS
Michaelson
. For God's sake maneuver to avoid collision."
The
Nelson
's captain sounded as unruffled as ever. "I'm afraid that's quite impossible."
"I notice you can receive my transmissions again."
"What's that? Say again, please."
Hayes closed his eyes briefly.
"Three minutes remaining before collision between HMS
Lord Nelson
and SASAL warship
Tamerlane
becomes inevitable."
Captain Hayes looked around the bridge. "I'd appreciate any suggestions anyone might have."
The red collision point symbol on Paul's display had grown larger, now pulsing continuously, and the time markers had also become much bigger and impossible to miss or ignore as they spun down toward zero.
"Two minutes remaining before collision between HMS
Lord Nelson
and SASAL warship
Tamerlane
becomes inevitable."
Paul caught Lieutenant Sindh's eye. Sindh shook her head. Paul looked back at his display.
"One minute re –"
Paul had to double check, then spoke with exaggerated care, his voice sounding louder than usual on the silent bridge. "We have thruster firings and aspect change on the SASAL ship." No one answered, but all bent closer to their displays as if willing the other ship to move. "We have main drive firing on the SASAL ship." Paul glanced at the time marker. Ten seconds from the point at which collision would be inevitable. The projected path of the SASAL ship began curving upward with agonizing slowness. The
Nelson
, still unwilling to maneuver, held her course and speed even though she could've taken her own action to further lessen the chance of collision.
The moment of closest point of approach came and went in a blur a tiny fraction of a second long. "How close were they?" Captain Hayes asked in a soft voice.
Sindh studied her display before replying. "Our system estimates CPA at about 800 meters, Captain." Then, in an undertone only Paul could hear, she muttered, "There can't be a single pair of dry underwear on either one of those ships right now."
Hayes shook his head. "Mad dogs and Englishmen." He punched his communications again. "HMS
Lord Nelson
, request the status of your maneuvering systems."
"This is HMS
Lord Nelson
." Captain Vitali's reply sounded cheerful. "Our maneuvering systems are fully operational."
Captain Hayes rubbed his forehead as he replied. "It appears your communications systems are fully functional again as well."
"Why, yes, they are. Brilliant. HMS
Lord Nelson
is ready to proceed with the maneuvering exercise."
"Do you anticipate any
further
system failures in the near future, Captain Vitali?"
"Oh, no. Not at all. We're fully prepared for the next shed-yuled event."
Paul glanced at Lieutenant Sindh. "'Shed-yuled'?"
"Scheduled."
Captain Hayes was watching the SASAL ship's track arching away from the combined formation. It would take it a long, long time to slow down, reverse course and cause them any more trouble even if the SASALs intended doing so. "Captain Vitali of HMS
Lord Nelson
, this is Captain Hayes of USS
Michaelson
. You owe me a drink."
"You're a man after my own heart, captain. Your ship or mine? Oh, wait, I suppose it'll have to be my ship, won't it? You U.S. Navy types being dry and all."
"I'm afraid so." Hayes laughed at Captain Vitali's reference to the US Navy not being allowed to serve alcohol onboard its ships except under exceptional circumstances. "All ships, this is the Exercise Movement Coordinator. We will restart the exercise time line as soon as all ships can resume relative starting positions. Request you advise me of estimated times until you can regain positions."
Over the next few hours the five ships wrestled themselves back into starting positions. The SASAL ship didn't try returning, instead heading back toward the transit lane while the
Michaelson
filed a report that would be used to issue a diplomatic protest to the South Asian Alliance over reckless actions by its warship.
By the time Paul's watch ended, the ships had managed to reform the huge pentagon and were preparing to form what the crew had begun referring to as the "flat football" formation. Over the next twenty-four hours they formed the "empty ball" as well as the "big O" and the "more or less line-ahead" formations. Paul was in Combat when the last formation was completed, and a ragged cheer went up from the watchstanders.
The foreign ships took their separate departures, the
Nelson
's captain reminding Captain Hayes he had a drink waiting and inviting the rest of the
Michaelson
's officers as well, the Franco-German ship once again ignoring any messages sent in English, and the Russian ship demanding to know how well each of the ships had performed even though Hayes repeatedly assured them there'd been no evaluation or ranking process conducted.
"Exercise completed," Captain Hayes announced to the
Michaelson
's crew. "Good job, everybody. You did yourselves and the U.S. Navy proud. Now, let's go home."
That brought another cheer, even more enthusiastic.
"Got a minute, Mr. Sinclair?"
Paul looked up from his stateroom desk at Sheriff Sharpe. "What's up?"
"One of your and my favorite sailors, sir." Sharpe extended a small medicinal sample package toward Paul.
Paul took it and peered inside where a couple of objects resembling poppy seeds were floating in the container. "What is it?"
"Joy-Buzz dots. Found inside the locker of one Seaman Fastow."
"Joy-Buzz." Paul eyed the objects again with distaste. The drug wasn't physically dangerous to someone using it, but it seriously impaired judgment and was banned on ships as a result. "Just these two?"
"Yes, sir. Request authorization to acquire Seaman Fastow's butt and run her down to sickbay for a drug test."
"Permission granted. Let me know what the results are."
Sharpe grinned. "Of course, sir."
"There's a Captain's Mast scheduled for just before we get back to Franklin."
"Yes, sir. I believe Ms. Fastow is going to participate in that little evolution."
* * *
Captain's Mast had its origins in ancient navies, where a ship's captain would render justice quite literally in front of the mast on the ship. Spaceships like the
Michaelson
had no actual masts, of course, but the non-judicial legal proceedings represented by Captain's Mast had been enshrined in the law governing military legal affairs known as the Uniform Code of Military Justice.
Paul braced himself against one side of the compartment where Captain's Mast would be held. As the collateral duty legal officer, he was required to be present for every Captain's Mast. Floating next to him was Senior Chief Kowalski, the senior enlisted crewmember. Standing at the hatch was Master-at-Arms Sharpe. "Attention on deck!" Sharpe called out.
Captain Hayes pulled himself into the compartment, nodded to Paul and the Senior Chief, then took up position near a podium fastened to the deck. He pulled out his data pad, placed it on the podium, called up the first case record, then gestured to Sharpe. "Let's go. First case."
Sharpe leaned out into the passageway. "Seaman Fastow. Front and center."
Fastow entered, her eyes darting about nervously. Sharpe pointed her to a position directly in front of the captain. Behind her came Chief Imari, who also nodded to Paul.
Hayes read over the information on his data unit, then looked sharply at Fastow. "Seaman Fastow, you are charged with violating the Uniform Code of Military Justice Article 112a, Wrongful Possession of Controlled Substances." Hayes glanced at Sharpe. "What was it?"
Sharpe cleared his throat. "Joy-Buzz dots, sir."
The captain focused back on Fastow. "What do you have to say?"
Fastow licked her lips before replying. "Captain, Sharpe there went rummaging through my locker—"
"Seaman Fastow, Petty Officer Sharpe conducted a search of an area onboard this ship. Onboard
my
ship."
"But, he didn't have any warrant—"
"Mr. Sinclair?"
Paul looked steadily at Fastow. "Lockers, desks and all other areas onboard the ship are government property, not personal areas. There's no right of privacy for them and no warrant is required for them to be searched."
Hayes narrowed his eyes at Fastow. "That's the law. Now, what about this stuff found in your locker?"
Fastow's eyes looked to the side, then back at the captain. "Sir, I don't know how it got there."
"You're claiming it's not yours?"
"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. It's not mine. I don't know how it got in my locker."